Playing God
by itslivinginallofus
Summary: A new and different Oneshot. This touches on Harper and Alex femslash but is narrated from Mrs. Russo's P.O.V. I don't blame you for being skeptical, but give it a chance? If nothing else, hopefully I can get points for originality! Please R&R! Halex


**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I do not own Wizards of Waverly Place.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This piece is the most different story I have ever written. It's a oneshot from the point of view of _Mrs. Russo._ I know, right? Kind of weird. But I got the inspiration in one of my classes and just went with it. This involves Harper/Alex femslash, so as usual, if you don't like, don't read. See you on the other side!**

Although I cherish each one of my children equally and with all of my heart, I always thought my daughter would be the one whom I connected with the most significantly. My middle child, my teenage girl, I knew it from conception that there was something special about her, and I figured that she being sandwiched between two brothers was her distinguishing factor. But there's something else; there must be, because her eyes don't shine at mine like the others, or even like they used to.

Her face, her voice, her essence is unmistakably that of my child, and yet I myself feel trapped behind the barrier that she has built from me. It saws through me like a knife through a loaf of bread to hear her cry behind her bedroom door, and when I ask what's wrong, she grins to appease me and says, "Nothing, Mom. I'm fine." I want to shake her. To rattle her tiny frame and plead with her to divulge something, anything. "Tell me, Baby, Momma is here," I pray to find the courage to say, but if it were to leave my lips, it would evaporate on deaf ears, I'm afraid.

No alcohol on her breath, no smoke caught in her hair, and yet the secret she carries is as apparent as a bruise, but it dares not speak its name. I always pictured the two of us curled up together, snuggled up to watch a movie or just to talk like my mother and I used to when I was a girl. Instead, we are lucky if we manage small talk between the clanging of the dishes being washed, and even that seems like more of a gesture than anything of substance. Have I failed her? What did I do to foster such a painful disconnect? My sons and I have an effortless connection simply in the fact that I am their mother and that is enough for them. But Alex is bound to me only by genetics, not the feeling that I am her guardian.

I'm afraid to move her hair out of her face because the truth that I might find in her eyes could be too intense to recover from. I hesitate before extending a hand to pull back her wrist band because of the scars that may scratch the surface of her innocent skin. I try with all my might to stop myself from peeking through the small, yet sufficient, space that the slightly opened door creates from her bedroom and the hallway, but this time, I have to look. I have to see if what she looks like when I'm not watching at all resembles what she looks like when I am watching.

What my eyes find is one of the last things I expect and nothing I am prepared to deal with. My daughter, who from the day she was born I had such a clear plan for, is pressing her lips so earnestly and passionately to those of her best friend -- a female. When her eyes open, they fall upon Harper with the sparkle that faded away long ago, and I hate myself for feeling angry and jealous, but I can't ignore the subconscious clenching of my fists.

Then I hear her voice, coated with a rare sensitivity as she speaks barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she speaks into the auburn-hair-covered shoulder of her girlfriend, "You're all I have."

I immediately and abruptly back away from the door because I can no longer remain silent and I am not ready to make myself seen. The sobs flee from me like newly-freed prisoners and I take solace in the linoleum floor of the bathroom, preparing myself for a sickness that the nausea in my stomach predicts. My mind is flooded with scenarios and memories that only now make sense based on what I just saw -- stories she would tell, looks she would give, stances she would take -- and I always convinced myself nothing was wrong. And maybe nothing is wrong. It's safe to say I'm not really sure of anything.

One of the images in my mind is one of Alex as a newborn baby and how I, more than anyone, even her doctor or father or brother, was the sole person in her newly-developing world that she was connected to. I gazed upon her angelic face and thought of where her life could and would lead, even long past my time on this earth. And at that moment, it all seemed possible, like I had the power. In the universe of my darling child, I was God, and I could play it however I wanted.

I don't need to be God. I just want to be her mother again.

**::deep breath:: All right. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Reviews?! Haha. I'm wicked curious as to whether or not this was a risk worth taking or scrap-worthy, so please, share your responses with me!**


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